


Speaking His Language

by distantsun



Series: keep this going til judgment day [1]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Banter, F/M, Femme Fatale, Film Noir, Kink Meme, Robot Orgasms And Also Human Ones, Robot Sex, Robot/Human Relationships, Roleplay, SO MUCH BANTER, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-05 23:04:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5393555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantsun/pseuds/distantsun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>F4 kink meme fill. The Sole Survivor, tired of Nick ignoring her advances, decides that what a hard-boiled detective really needs is a dangerous woman with a sharp tongue and sharper curves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speaking His Language

_“Careful there, handsome. A few more heroic saves like that and this damsel might find herself in quite a bit of distress.”_

She had a problem.

It kept her up nights, buzzed annoyingly at the back of her mind all day, made her hands shake and her stomach do flips. She’d ignored it for as long as she could, but eventually she had to face the truth, and the truth was that she wanted Nick Valentine so badly that she half-suspected it might actually be driving her insane.

She wasn’t sure when the shift had happened, when the easy banter that characterized their interactions had taken on extra layers of meaning, when her idle speculations about how (and if) synths experienced attraction had become a _really pressing concern._ It was just something about his wry smiles and kind-hearted gestures and the little human things he did when he thought no one was looking. He listened to her, really listened, and he had her back and he made her laugh and he was real and beautiful and _Nick_ and she wanted him. Whatever that meant.

Accepting that she was attracted to him was difficult enough, with everything else going on. Doing something about it-- and she had to do something about it, because furiously getting herself off to the thought of his quiet voice in her ear and his eyes glowing back at her in the dark wasn’t going to keep her satisfied forever-- proved even harder, mostly because she wasn’t sure there was a more oblivious man in the whole of the Commonwealth she could’ve chosen to try to seduce.

She knew, from some of their more meandering late-night conversations (when she couldn’t sleep and he… _didn’t_ ), that he wasn’t exactly averse to the idea of a relationship with someone, although she understood from his vague self-deprecation that he wouldn’t experience it quite the same way as a human did. 

_“There are things they forgot to give me, but I_ do _have eyes. A nice pair of gams is a nice pair of gams. Mostly I get to watch them walk away.”_

It wasn’t that he didn’t see people that way; he just didn’t seem to think it was possible for anyone to see _him_ that way. It hurt her heart and frustrated her all at once.

She’d pulled out everything in her (admittedly small and somewhat rusty) arsenal to get him to notice. Gazes that lingered a little too long to be accidental, smiles flashed from across the room, a gentle hand on his arm that she hesitated to remove. He didn’t seem to mind, but he wasn’t giving her anything in return, either-- just the same steady, friendly support, the same light, automatic banter that could’ve been flirting in any other context but that she knew was just his way.

One night she got a little drunk and ended up half in his lap, all the inhibitions she had left working overtime to barely stop her from climbing on him right then and there and showing him, thoroughly, with no room for misinterpretation, everything she’d been thinking over the past few weeks. Even then he didn’t get it, just chuckling with a self-deprecating comment about how far gone she had to be to be hanging off of _him,_ and had deposited her in her bed alone with a bit of light teasing about how bad she was going to feel in the morning. He was certainly a gentleman, and part of her was glad, but it wasn’t the screaming, frustrated part.

For a detective, Nick really could be remarkably clueless.

There was nothing else for it. She needed a plan.

****

It took some time to put everything together, and even more time to find the right moment. Eventually she’d worked up the courage to ask Ellie to pencil in a late-night appointment on his calendar, and had even managed not to turn _entirely_ bright red at the secretary’s raised eyebrow and knowing grin in response.

And now the night had come at last. She sat on the edge of his desk, crossed her legs, uncrossed them and re-crossed them the other way, took a deep breath. Smoothed out her skirt. Another deep breath. _I hope this isn’t a terrible mistake._

In the quiet, dark office, the sound of a key turning in the lock was enough to make her jump. Heart in her throat, she saw Nick’s familiar silhouette framed in the doorway for a moment before the lights flickered on, and then his eyes were on her.

He froze in the doorway. She could nearly hear his brain grind to a halt, algorithms searching and sorting through data to make any kind of sense of this. 

Last time he’d seen her, she’d been dressed in a vault suit, covered in dust and swearing as she banged her wrench on a generator at her settlement. The woman perched on his desk now, draped strategically in slinky black fabric, hair finger-curled, lips red and eyes lined with charcoal, must’ve seemed almost unrecognizable.

She watched him carefully. At first she’d found it hard to read Nick, as it seemed his face wasn’t expressive in quite the same way as a human’s was. But she knew him now, could read every line on his worn face like a map of familiar roads, and she watched an array of emotions flash across that face. Confusion, concern, slight amusement in a twitch of his lips, and through it all, something deep and intense in his gaze that she’d never seen from him before but was really, _really_ hoping was a good sign.

He broke the silence with a chuckle, never taking his eyes off her. “Ellie said the dame I was meeting tonight looked like trouble. She wasn’t kidding.”

She thought she might smack Ellie later, or hug her, depending on how this went. 

Stretching languidly, she pushed herself off his desk, hips swaying purposefully as she crossed the room to him. Her legs were cold, barely covered as they were by the thin fabric of the pre-war dress she’d scavenged during last week’s scouting expedition, and she hoped he wouldn’t notice the goosebumps. She tapped her long cigarette holder against her lips-- _that_ hadn’t been cheap, she’d had to trade away some really useful materials and a _lot_ of Sugar Bombs for it-- and looked up at him through her eyelashes.

“I need your help, Mr. Valentine.”

“Is that so.” His lips quirked slightly, and his golden eyes swept over her in a way that made her feel warm and shiver simultaneously. “Light?”

“What?” She was momentarily thrown off balance.

He grinned, gesturing to her cigarette. “Not that I knew you partake. Nasty habit, you know.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Mr. Valentine.”

She didn’t smoke. She’d practiced, though, enough to at least avoid giving herself away by coughing up a lung when she inhaled.

“Clearly,” Nick drawled, pocketing his matchbook. “You’ve kept a _few things_ under wraps, from the looks of it.” His eyes flickered over her attire again. She worked hard at not blushing.

He was leaning over her now, so close that if she tilted her head up just a little, their foreheads would touch. Instead, she reached up and traced the brim of his hat with a fingertip.

“Can we speak in confidence?” she murmured.

“Don’t know about you, but _I’m_ feeling pretty damn good about myself right now,” he retorted with a smirk.

Her hand slid down his shoulder, and she twirled his tie between her fingers. “I’m in trouble,” she confessed.

“A nice girl like you?”

_“Exactly_ like me, yes.” A practiced flutter of her eyelashes hid, hopefully, any evidence on her face of the sudden rush of butterflies in her stomach. He was very, _very_ close. She could smell tobacco smoke and the faint tang of warm gunmetal, feel the heat that radiated from his skin from all the moving parts beneath. “It’s about a man.”

“Lucky guy.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” She wrapped his tie idly around her wrist and released it again. “Doesn’t seem to notice I’m alive.”

“Hell, I find _that_ hard to believe,” he said softly, catching her hand at his chest and pulling her in. “Way I see it, a man might have trouble noticing anything else.”

“...Yeah?” She couldn’t stay in character, couldn’t think of anything but that one word and the pressure of his skin against hers.

“If he had any brains at all, sweetheart.” His eyes burned into hers and his arm slid around her waist, and she pulled him forward by the tie and leaned in an infinitesimal amount and waited a moment that felt like years and then finally, _finally,_ he was kissing her.

It was slow and sweet and strange, not quite like anyone else she’d ever kissed, but not wrong, not wrong at all. She couldn’t stop herself from making a faint pleading sound into his lips, letting his slow, hesitant exploration deepen into something hungry and frantic, until she finally had to break away to gasp for breath.

Nick leaned his forehead against hers, and she could swear he looked a little dazed. “I sure hope seducing me actually _was_ the point of all this,” he quipped, “or I might have an apology to make.”

She closed her eyes and laughed, all the tension going out of her body. “Yes, thank you for finally noticing.”

“You didn’t need to go to all this trouble, doll.” His good hand traced the hem of her dress and slid up onto her thigh. _“Not_ that I’m complaining. But all you ever had to do was ask.”

“Well, I don’t know, maybe when I practically crawled into your lap and you barely reacted, I got the impression you might not be interested.” She tried to sound annoyed, but it was hard when she couldn’t stop smiling.

His eyes slid away from her momentarily. “Guess I couldn’t quite believe it,” he confessed quietly. “You… me… it doesn’t fit, you know?”

“No.” She kissed him again. “I have no idea.”

_“Women.”_ He shook his head, grinning.

“So, what do you say, Mr. Valentine?” She gazed up at him, wide-eyed, voice husky, slipping back into character. “Think you’ll take the case?”

“I’ll take anything you’re offering.” His voice was so low it was nearly a growl, and she felt it in her core. Before she could respond, he had her in his arms, hoisted up against his desk as his mouth claimed hers again. His bare hand gripped her hair, tipping her head back, while his other hand continued to skim along the top of her thigh, and for a dizzying moment she felt like _she_ was the one in danger of shorting out. She made helpless little sounds and moved her hands blindly, touching every part of him she could reach.

Her fingertips brushed the ragged edge of the tear in his neck and she stopped, suddenly afraid of hurting him, and he leaned back with a wry sad smile and tangled her fingers in his. “I know I’m in a sorry state. You don’t have to--”

“No,” she breathed, and started unbuttoning his shirt. “Want to.”

“Crazy dame,” he murmured into her neck, letting her work. 

She decided, as much as she liked his trenchcoat on him, it looked much better crumpled up on the floor next to his desk. The tie could stay on, though.

He was so _warm,_ she marveled, warm and surprisingly responsive under her exploring hands. He felt different but _right,_ the same feeling as when she’d kissed him for the first time, and she could feel him relaxing as it became clear that she wasn’t going to recoil in horror from either his injuries or his more obviously synthetic parts.

She brushed a spot under his collarbone and felt him go rigid, a faint strangled noise somewhere between a groan and a whir caught in his throat. Experimentally she pressed her lips against that spot, teasing it with tongue and teeth.

_“Christ,”_ he gritted out, hand tightening on her thigh. “That’s-- _oh-- that’s_ new. There’s… there’s a bundle of sensors there but I never--”

“Quiet, detective,” she murmured, amused. “Concentrating here.” She nipped at his skin, seeking out other sensitive points through the slow exploration of her hands over his body, feeling him shudder with new sensations. To her delight, she seemed to be able to coax a building pleasure from him even without the obvious parts to reach for.

He tipped his head back sharply and moaned. “Oh _God…_ I can’t…” His voice distorted and trailed off, his eyes dimmed and he shuddered against her, caught in what seemed to be some kind of feedback loop. It went on for a long time, and she worried briefly that she might have broken something important. Finally, to her relief, his eyes blinked and fell closed, and his limbs loosened.

She bit her lip and tried to stifle the urge to grin like a fool. “Was that--”

“Something like,” he murmured, letting out breath he didn’t need in a deep sigh. “File _that_ under ‘to be explored later’.” His fingertips gently caressed the spot on her leg they’d been desperately digging into a moment earlier-- she was definitely going to have bruises but she could not have cared any less. “Now, where were we? I believe there was something about a beautiful woman who needed my help…”

She trembled, unable to keep her hips from rocking against his hand as it slid up her thigh.

“She was all knockout curves and legs for days,” he murmured into her ear, dextrous fingers slipping inside her, “in nothing but a short black dress and a smile that could kill a man, and I knew she was trouble the moment I saw her--”

_“Nick--”_ She clutched the edge of the desk with one hand and his shoulder with the other and buried her face into his chest, trying to stabilize herself, trying to keep from coming apart right then and there. He was relentless, his fingers slipping so easily in and out of her-- she was so beyond ready, had needed this for so long-- she tried to tell him, tried to string together enough coherent words to somehow communicate that this, _him,_ was all she’d wanted and all she could ask for, but suddenly she found her mouth smothered by his in a searing, hungry kiss and all she could do was cry out wordlessly into his lips as he brought her to the edge and then pushed her over it.

When she could think again, she lifted her head, and found herself staring into soft golden eyes that were watching her like she was the only thing that mattered in the world. She let out a long breath, and slumped back onto his desk with him still half on top of her, and papers and pens went everywhere and suddenly they were both laughing with sheer exhaustion and joy and she thought her heart might break from how perfect a mess it all was.

“Oh,” he said. “One thing.”

She lifted her head.

He shot her a sly look. “We never discussed my rates…”

“I _will_ shoot you.” She arched an eyebrow.

“My kind of woman,” he said happily.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a fill for the Fallout 4 kink meme. Original prompt:
> 
> "SS is interested in Nick. Really interested. But Nick doesn't seem to notice at all.
> 
> Tired of shooting in the dark, SS decides to go a route that Nick might understand a little better. AKA she waits for him in his office one night, all decked out with a sexy dress and a cigarette, and takes on a femme fatale persona.
> 
> Tl;dr Sexually frustrated F!SS roleplays a femme fatale and tries to seduce Nick the Film Noir way."
> 
> writing noir banter is SO fun.


End file.
